


The Only Hand You Need To Hold Onto

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every stage of Joonmyun's life, Chanyeol's been there, waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Hand You Need To Hold Onto

**one.**

Joonmyun doesn't remember the first time they met, but there's photographic evidence in a shoe box somewhere in his parents' house. Chanyeol's maybe eight months, sloppy grin stretched from ear to ear. He's not looking at the camera, though—he's looking right at Joonmyun.

Chanyeol swears he can recall everything, down to the color of the carpet. "You smiled at me," he says. "That's why I was looking at you."

"That's what babies do, Chanyeol."

"No, this was different. You knew."

"Anyway, you can't _possibly_ remember that. Your mother told you, or my mother told you. Or something."

Chanyeol shakes his head and flashes that same grin. It's a lot toothier than it used to be. "When something that life-changing happens to you, hyung, you remember it."

 

**four.**

When Joonmyun starts kindergarten, he inherits a satchel from his older brother that is just slightly too big for him. He insists on using it anyway, fills it with heavy colored paper and a pencil case, ten neatly-sharpened rainbow points that gleam every time he opens it. The pencils are his treasure and he's determined to keep them pristine, so they never leave the case.

He doesn't really need the bag but he insists on it (it makes him feel grown-up), so his teachers hang it up on a hook in the coat room every morning and return it to him every afternoon. He sits down on the floor, both his teacher and his mother looking on as he counts his pencils. He checks the tips with a meticulous sort of steadfastness that hints at the serious student he will become before he'll follow his mother home. 

Chanyeol wants a satchel too. He's a year away from school, but he whines every time he sees Joonmyun's. He gets one, finally—an old one of Yura's, more like a purse than a school bag, but he's proud of it anyway. He keeps a few toys in there—an old ball, a teddy. A few crayons, labels peeling, colored down to nubs.

Joonmyun sees how empty Chanyeol's bag is and slips the pencil case inside. "Take care of them," he says to Chanyeol when his mother comes to collect him.

Chanyeol returns them the next day, blunted. Joonmyun's near tears at the loss of his beautiful pencils until Chanyeol hands him a piece of paper full of colored scribbles.

"Isn't that lovely?" Joonmyun's mother says, crouching over him to take a look at it. "Chanyeol drew you a picture." Joonmyun's too distracted by the pencils to notice the two purple blobs in the center of the swirling mess.

Chanyeol beams. "Joonmyun," he says simply, pointing at the one on the left. "Chanyeol." The one on the right. They're so close together you can't quite tell where Chanyeol ends and Joonmyun begins.

 

**seven.**

When Chanyeol starts primary school, Joonmyun's already been attending for a year so he's expected to walk with Chanyeol to and from the school each morning. Joonmyun wouldn't mind, except Chanyeol walks so slowly and wants to stop to pet _every_ animal they meet on their way, even though cats make him sneeze and rub his eyes and there's an old dog on a chain that barks so loudly even Joonmyun's a little frightened.

"Chanyeol," he snaps one morning. "If you don't hurry up, we'll miss the first bell."

Chanyeol looks up, hands wound around the straps of his backpack. "I'm coming."

"We're going to be late. Walk faster."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Chanyeol protests. "Don't yell."

In the distance, the warning bell chimes brightly.

Joonmyun's torn. He promised Chanyeol's mother he'd walk him to school, but he's also the class president this year, and he doesn't want to be punished in front of the entire class for being late. Even the _thought_ of that kind of humiliation is too much for Joonmyun.

He looks over his shoulder at the row of trees leading up to the schoolyard, and then back at Chanyeol. "You can make it to class on your own, right?"

Chanyeol's normally-sunny face clouds over. "Yes, hyung," he says, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. It skitters past Joonmyun and pings into the road.

"I'll see you after school at the gates. We'll walk home together."

"You don't have to," Chanyeol says. "I'm a big boy. I can walk by myself."

Joonmyun dismisses this idea, hoping he doesn't look as guilty as he feels. "That's silly. We're both walking the same way, why wouldn't we walk together?"

Chanyeol shrugs. "If you want."

Joonmyun takes off at a dead sprint and leaves Chanyeol behind. He slides into his desk at the front of the classroom with seconds to spare.

 

After school, he waits by the gates for half an hour before Chanyeol's friend Baekhyun comes trotting past. He grabs him by the elbow.

"Baekhyun. Where's Chanyeol?" Joonmyun demands. "Did he get in trouble for being late to class? Does he have to stay after?"

Baekhyun frowns. "Chanyeol didn't come in today."

Joonmyun's stomach clenches with fear. "I walked with him—until the last two blocks. Where did he go?"

"Who knows?" Baekhyun shrugs away from Joonmyun and adjusts the sleeve of his blazer. "I need to go. I have a piano lesson."

Joonmyun walks around the perimeter of the schoolyard and doesn't find Chanyeol. He doesn't find him the next block, either—and nobody's seen a round-faced boy in a school uniform wandering. He checks the bookstore with the large grey tabby Chanyeol's particularly fond of, even detours back past the yard with the scary dog, just to make sure.

Joonmyun sits down on the curb and puts his head in his hands, hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He didn't mean to _lose_ Chanyeol. He'd been so worried about making it to class on time but now he was going to be in real trouble. And Chanyeol's probably alone somewhere, and _scared—_

A hand taps on his shoulder. He nearly jumps out of his skin, but it's just Chanyeol with a quizzical look on his face and a half-eaten carp bread in his other fist.

"Hyung? Are you crying?" He thrusts the bread under Joonmyun's nose. "Here. You can have the rest of this if you want."

Joonmyun knocks it away and pulls Chanyeol into a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to leave you. I won't do it again."

Chanyeol laughs and wriggles out of Joonmyun's embrace. "I'm fine, hyung. I told you. I'm a big boy." He dusts off the carp bread and squints at it. "Five second rule? I used the last of my allowance on this."

"Baekhyun says you didn't go to classes today. We're both going to get in trouble if your mother finds out." Joonmyun grabs at his hand. "And don't eat that. The streets are filthy."

Chanyeol's mother never does find out about Chanyeol wandering off. Joonmyun refers to it as _the time you got lost_ but Chanyeol pouts and reminds Joonmyun that _he_ actually knew where he was the entire time, so _how does that count as being lost?_

Joonmyun keeps a closer eye on him after that anyway. He even makes Chanyeol hold his hand every morning, tugs him along the sidewalk like a boat dragging an anchor. He's late more often than not because there's always something Chanyeol just _has_ to stop and see, but Joonmyun doesn't care. He doesn't feel right until he sees Chanyeol disappear into his classroom, safe for another day. 

 

**twelve.**

Most Friday nights, Joonmyun's parents bring him over to Chanyeol's house. The adults park themselves around the kitchen table with board games and a pot of tea. Joonmyun participates for the first round because it's _what's expected_ , but the adults get distracted by conversation and never set up for the second round, so Joonmyun escapes and finds Chanyeol in his bedroom, plucking at the strings of a brand-new electric guitar.

"Where'd you get that?" Joonmyun asks, sitting down on the floor at Chanyeol's feet. The walls behind Chanyeol are papered with pages ripped from magazines: blurry neon cityscapes, old black and white pictures of jazz musicians, a few pop musicians—Korean, American, some Joonmyun doesn't recognize.

"Birthday. My aunt bought it for me." Chanyeol grins and looks up, fingers splayed against the fretboard. "Listen."

The guitar twangs noisily. It doesn't sound like music. Joonmyun wrinkles his nose.

"You need to take lessons."

"Nah." Chanyeol strums again, strings plinking discordantly against the neck of the instrument. "Stevie Ray Vaughan taught himself how to play. So can I."

 _You're no Stevie Ray Vaughan,_ Joonmyun thinks, closing his eyes. He lets it pass without further comment, though. Chanyeol goes through these phases: he'd wanted to be a fireman, a veterinarian, a doctor. Rock star will fall by the wayside, just like all the other things.

 

**fifteen.**

Chanyeol's pants are too short for him. He's in the middle of a growth spurt that promises to stretch his height past Joonmyun's. That's the first thing Joonmyun notices when Chanyeol opens the door wide for the Kim family one Friday night in May. Joonmyun's got his backpack slung over one shoulder and keeps reminding his mother in a quiet whisper that he's got homework to do, so he's not going to play games all night.

"Chanyeol, you're getting so tall," Joonmyun's mother marvels, patting his cheek as she walks past. Chanyeol smiles bashfully like he hasn't heard that out of every adult's mouth for the past six months and waves a brief hello to Joonmyun, who draws his spine up a little straighter even though it's hopeless—Chanyeol outgrew him ages ago.

Chanyeol's mother sets out tea for everyone. Chanyeol takes a seat at the end of the table across from Joonmyun, already antsy to take leave to his bedroom and get away from the adults. Joonmyun holds his teacup under his nose and blows the steam patiently, eyes trained on the deck of cards in the center of the table. So they'd be playing card games tonight.

Chanyeol's father seems more interested in conversation at the moment, though. "Joonmyun. You did well on your examination scores, didn't you?"

Joonmyun's father cuts in. "Perfect score. Ranked first in his class." The look on his face—like he couldn't have been more proud even if Joonmyun had cured cancer on his lunch break. Joonmyun bows his head. The way his father brags—it's like they're _his_ grades. And Joonmyun doesn't consciously try to ace everything. School's just... always come easy to him.

"Chanyeol's having some trouble with English," Chanyeol's father says in a loud whisper that everyone hears. "He's never going to get into a good high school if he doesn't stop wasting his time on music and pull up his scores."

Chanyeol slinks a little lower in his chair, sullen gaze trained on the napkin holder in the center of the table. Joonmyun feels for him. It's embarrassing to be discussed like this—grades dissected like they're indicators of your worth as a person instead of what they are: numbers that are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Joonmyun's mother senses the discomfort and insists on dealing the first hand of gin rummy. Joonmyun beats everyone and then pushes his cards away. "Need to study," he says, excusing himself from the table. He realizes belatedly it's probably the wrong thing to do after the previous conversation but he's just _bored_ hanging out with his parents and their friends. He can think of a million other things he'd rather be doing on a Friday night, and none of them involve hanging out _here_ , Chanyeol or no.

Joonmyun goes outside onto the back porch and settles into a wicker chair. The sun hasn't quite set yet and there's just enough of a breeze that it feels truly perfect outside. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Unzips his backpack and pulls out a heavy biology textbook, riffles through the tabbed pages until he finds the chapter he's looking for.

He hears the door slide open and shut but he doesn't need to look up to know it's Chanyeol. He waits, hears the telltale sound of Chanyeol tuning the guitar, humming to himself quietly as he adjusts the pegs _just so_.

"Flaunting it in his face isn't going to make him very happy," Joonmyun murmurs, flicking to the next page.

"I don't care about making him happy," Chanyeol says defensively. "You didn't need to announce your study plans to the whole table, you know. That just started him up again. It's _your_ fault."

Joonmyun looks up. "I told you I'd help you." He sets his book in his lap, using his thumb to keep his place. "Chanyeol, you can't just mess around forever. If you want to go to university, you have to do well on those exams."

Chanyeol scowls. "Forget it," he says tersely, getting to his feet. "You wouldn't understand, hyung. You don't know how to have fun."

Joonmyun finds that this stings more than he'd expected it to, especially coming from Chanyeol.

 

**nineteen.**

Joonmyun hears over dinner that Chanyeol plans on going to music school. Joonmyun's father shakes his head and looks at Joonmyun.

"You should talk to him," he says. "He won't listen to his parents."

"Chanyeol's very good at the guitar," Joonmyun says lamely, avoiding his father's stare.

"It's a _waste._ All that money spent on tutors."

Joonmyun puts another spoonful of soup in his mouth so he won't be tempted to say anything else.

It's been months since he's spoken properly to Chanyeol. The Friday night game nights between Joonmyun's parents and Chanyeol's are still going strong, but Joonmyun hasn't tagged along in years now. Not since their fight. He always finds an excuse not to go.

They bump into each other occasionally, usually in the hallways going to lunch, but Chanyeol's always talking a little too loudly to his friends and Joonmyun's gotten very good at avoiding eye contact. School's winding down for the year. Joonmyun's got a couple weeks left, and then he'll be gone for good. Chanyeol's got another year left.

Joonmyun thinks about his college entrance exams and tries to picture Chanyeol as anything other than a musician. After that argument on the back porch, remembering the anger in Chanyeol's eyes, he just _can't_.

Joonmyun was wrong in thinking the guitar was just another one of Chanyeol's silly phases. Chanyeol loves music so much he doesn't care if his friends or his family support him. It's something he _needs_ to do.

And maybe it's stupid, because they were never really _that_ close—mostly friends out of convenience and proximity, thanks to their connected backyards and their parents' friendship, but Joonmyun really misses Chanyeol all of a sudden.

Chanyeol's sitting on the back porch when Joonmyun pokes his head through the gap in the fence, in the same chair Joonmyun'd been sitting in when Chanyeol had dismissed him four years ago. He has his guitar laid out across his lap, hands smoothing along the strings without playing anything.

"Chanyeol," Joonmyun says softly. Chanyeol's head jerks up in surprise.

"Joonmyun." He corrects himself, a self-conscious sort of smile creeping along his lips, smoothing them out. "Hyung."

Joonmyun's surprised at how nice it feels to be called that again by Chanyeol. Chanyeol was such an integral part of Joonmyun's childhood that he'd really taken it for granted that Chanyeol would always be there—part of the furniture, or something.

"Are you okay?" He lowers himself onto the top step of the porch and looks up at Chanyeol, who seems mildly irritated at the question.

"So. Word travels fast." He sighs. "Did my mother come over and ask you to talk to me?"

"No."

"My father?"

"Neither, actually," Joonmyun says, leaving out the part where his own father had encouraged him to come and talk to Chanyeol. He's not here to do that, though: he's not their messenger and he's not Chanyeol's parent, either. They can fight their own battles, if it's that important to them.

"Guess you were right," Chanyeol says bitterly, leaning back into the chair. "Music's a waste of time."

The early evening air is muggy, thick with the promise of a midnight thunderstorm. There's a quiet rumbling in the distance. Chanyeol pulls his sweatshirt closer to his chest and shivers.

"Don't say that," Joonmyun says quietly. He puts his hand on Chanyeol's knee. "I was wrong."

"Nah," Chanyeol says. "I should have studied more instead of looking at music schools." He looks down at Joonmyun ruefully. "Joke's on my dad, though—there's no way I'm going to school for anything academic. My grades are terrible."

Joonmyun takes a deep breath. "But what do you _want_ to do?"

"Music," Chanyeol replies without skipping a beat. And then, a surprising apology: "I'm sorry for telling you that you were no fun."

Joonmyun chuckles. "You weren't completely wrong, you know." He gestures at Chanyeol's guitar. "I can't do any of that. Five years of piano and I still have trouble reading music, forget playing anything."

"I only wanted to impress you, hyung," he murmurs. "You've always the best at things. I just—wanted to show you I could be good at things too."

Joonmyun sees a flash of that lost little boy finding himself again in the way Chanyeol smiles and pulls the guitar back into his lap. "Chanyeol," he says. "I—thank you." He isn't sure what to say to that.

Chanyeol shrugs and strums a chord. "I know I was annoying when I was a kid. I just—I liked you a lot, hyung." He exhales loudly, sounding more like a freight train than a boy. "Maybe more than I should have, sometimes."

The weight of Chanyeol's words sits heavy in Joonmyun's chest. "And now?" he asks hoarsely. In his peripheral vision, he sees Chanyeol bury a smile in the neck of his sweatshirt.

"Don't worry about it." Another chord. Minor, this time. "I'll get over it."

Joonmyun's heartbeat accelerates. "You don't have to," he says, mouth dry. "And don't give up music, okay? That'd be the real waste."

"I won't," Chanyeol says, still smiling.

 

**twenty-two.**

Joonmyun takes the LEET and passes. It's not as satisfying as he'd expected, especially when he knows there's another two years of intense schooling in his future. His parents are waiting back at their house with dinner—all of Joonmyun's favorite things, but he's too busy watching the clock and shoveling food into his mouth to actually taste any of it.

"Slow down," his father says. "You're going to choke."

"Someone's waiting for me," he says. His mother looks at him curiously and then smiles knowingly.

"Of course. You should be celebrating with friends."

He makes a quick detour to the apartment first and spends an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror trying to pick out something to wear that doesn't look so uptight. It's past eight when he gives up and settles on the first clean shirt in his closet with a half-zipped sweater over top. So he runs.

He makes it on time, but barely. There's a stool. A glass, a bottle of water. A microphone, lined with guitar picks. Green ones. Joonmyun takes a seat at the front table and waits for the lights to dim.

He's been bugging Chanyeol for weeks about these little shows down at the coffee shop on campus. It always conveniently slips Chanyeol's mind to invite Joonmyun, though, like he's embarrassed or something. This is a reward, apparently: _"Since you've been studying so hard,"_ Chanyeol had told him that morning. _"Meet me here. I'm on at eight thirty. You know, ish."_

Chanyeol goes on closer to nine. He plays three songs, all of which sound intimately familiar to Joonmyun even though he doesn't know any of the titles because he's heard Chanyeol practicing them for weeks now. He closes his eyes and focuses on the little things—the quiet inhalations in between verses, the finger slides, the vibrato that rings out before Chanyeol dampens it with his hand. And when it's over, Joonmyun claps loudest of all.

After the lights go up, Joonmyun waits for Chanyeol to finish packing up. He's talking to some old guy, nodding enthusiastically as he zips up his guitar case. The man hands him a business card and wags a finger at Chanyeol. The universal sign for _I'm serious—don't forget._

"What was that?" Joonmyun asks.

"He thinks I'd be a good delivery boy for his restaurant," Chanyeol lies smoothly, grin stretched across his face. "You made it. Thanks for coming." Twin spots of pink color his cheeks. "How did the exam go?"

"I did well," he says. Chanyeol does that thing where he's trying to hide his smile but he's never been very good at keeping a straight face for long.

"I knew you would, hyung."

Now it's Joonmyun's turn to blush. "You're cute," he says when Chanyeol moves his guitar to his left shoulder so he can hold Joonmyun's hand with his right. "You sounded great tonight."

Chanyeol squeezes his hand. "I know."

"You just know everything, don't you?" Joonmyun teases, hand extended, pushing open the door so Chanyeol can walk through.

"Nah," Chanyeol says, door clanging shut behind him. It's warm out and his palm's a little sweaty but he takes Joonmyun's hand again. "I have a surprise for you."

When Joonmyun pulls his hand away there's a business card in it for some recording studio. He reads it a few times and looks up, nose wrinkled. "What is this?"

"He wasn't looking for a delivery boy." Chanyeol shrugs, suddenly bashful, and puts his hand in his back pocket the way he always does when he's trying to be casual. "It's just an audition. I don't know if it means anything, but—"

"But it's a step in the right direction." Joonmyun beams, snakes an arm around Chanyeol's waist and leans in for an embrace. They look a little off-balance—Joonmyun never did catch up to Chanyeol's height, so they make an awkward four-legged creature hobbling down the sidewalk, but Joonmyun's just so proud he can't work it up to care whether or not people are staring. "See, I told you it wasn't a waste."

Chanyeol nods and presses his mouth to Joonmyun's temple. "Thank you," he murmurs. Joonmyun can't see his face but he can _feel_ the smile against his hair. "Means a lot that you came tonight."

"Of course," Joonmyun says, searching for Chanyeol's hand again. It's an old habit from primary school but he just feels better with Chanyeol's fingers between his own. Safe. Like it doesn't matter which direction Chanyeol goes, because as long as he holds on, Joonmyun will be there too.


End file.
